Imaginary
by Snake-Boi
Summary: Harry suffers from extreme apathy at the Dursleys'. Things get a little hectic with the Ministry. What will happen next?
1. Chapter One

Green eyes stared blankly ahead, noting, but not reacting to, the irregular patter of scratches marking the walls. Harry Potter was sitting in the smallest bedroom at number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. The young wizard's face held no emotion as he pondered his existence.  
  
Is it worth living, he wondered, the thought not posed as a question, but more as a random bit of thought that crossed his mind, only to vanish again. Two weeks at the Dursley's had forced him to bottle up his emotions. With no outlet, his thoughts had taken up a pattern of loss and death – his family, Sirius, Cedric, Remus, in a sense, Cho, in another – and in response he has fallen into a depression so deep and utterly absolute that it scared the Dursley's.  
  
It had started almost as soon as he had gotten home, such as it was (who, after all, would call this house a home?). A few sharp comments had sent Harry to his room to unpack and 'stay there until he was needed'.  
  
When he had finished unpacking he had crept over to the door to listen to what was going on. There seemed to be some sort argument going on between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Their voices rose in a remarkably stereotypical crescendo until there was a slightly muffled slapping sound and utter silence.  
  
Harry's eyes widened as he realized one of his guardians had slapped the other. He fiercely hoped it had nothing to do with him. He didn't want to deal with this crap right after the death of—no, he wouldn't think of it.  
  
The loud thumping sound of something large coming up the stairs alerted Harry to the fact that he was in a very sneaky position. He quickly busied himself with organising the things in his room. He tried not to jump as the door to his room slammed open.  
  
"Listen boy," Uncle Vernon snarled, his red face all purple-splotched and looking slightly mad. "I didn't want to take you back at all these holidays, so I'll tell you this now. You shall do whatever we say, whenever we say. You shall not speak in our presence. You shall not complain in any way. You seem to have forgotten these little rules of ours after you've been to that freak school." Spit flew from the angry man's mouth as he stressed the word 'freak'.  
  
Harry looked at his 'uncle' blankly. "Fine," he muttered. His turned away from his uncle, not really caring at the moment. A sharp rap on the back of his head made him turn around and stare at his uncle with blank eyes.  
  
His uncle stared back.  
  
"Make sure you remember," he muttered before leaving. Harry flopped on his bed and fell promptly asleep.  
  
After this incident, he had a week full of vicious remarks, chores, and unrelenting labour. He did it all blankly, not really caring about anything. His apathy was scaring them, he knew, but again, he didn't really care.  
  
The all time low had came in the middle of his second week with the Dursley's, after he had a dream about Sirius falling into the veil all over again, only this time he was bound to a wall, and masked Death Eaters stood around pointing and laughing as Sirius fell through the veil again and again.  
  
He had not wanted to get up the next day, and didn't respond to the several shouted commands to 'get down here now!' He had only sighed and turned over when he heard feet thumping up the stairs. When his door slammed open, he shut his eyes and curled under the blankets further.  
  
"BOY!" Vernon bellowed, "what do you think you're doing?!" No response from Harry. The beefy man ripped the bedding off the bed. Harry continued to stare sightlessly towards the wall he was facing. "HOW DARE YOU IGNORE ME?!" Harry's uncle was nearly choking on his rage, but there was still no reaction. Vernon ripped off his belt. "I'm warning you boy, pay attention to me now!" When nothing happened, Vernon grinned cruelly, and raised his belt above Harry's back. "You need to be taught some discipline." Swishing the belt down, Vernon waited with smug satisfaction for the delightful smacking sound and Harry's howl of pain. He had done this a few times before, and he enjoyed it. However, the sounds never came. The belt had vanished in mid swing.  
  
"What did you do?" Vernon growled deep in his throat. "You're not allowed to use magic outside of that freak-school!" he snickered with grim satisfaction. "You're in for it this time, boy, and when they kick you out, don't expect to live here!" He snickered some more and watched as an owl flew to his nephews bedroom window. "Ah, here comes one of those bloody messenger owls now!" He flung open the window and watched in amazement as the bird was ripped in two. The bloody halves fell to the ground.  
  
"What did you do!?" Vernon repeated dumbly. Harry may have shifted position, Vernon wasn't too sure. Vernon shuddered away from the window and jumped a little as the bell rang.  
  
"I'll deal with you later, boy!" he yelled as he ran down the stairs. Harry opened his eyes as he realized Vernon was gone. He shifted his position a little and listened to the raised voices coming once more from downstairs.  
  
"You can't just barge in here whenever you like it!" Vernon was spluttering in indignation.  
  
"Please, Mr. Dursley," came an official sounding female voice, "do not test my patience."  
  
"You bloody freaks!" Vernon yelled. "You think you're the top of—"  
  
"Petrificus Totalus!" The incantation was said sharply, and made Harry's head perk up. A witch? He listened closely as he heard light footsteps hurry up the steps.  
  
"Mr. Potter?" said the cool, intelligent voice. "Good day to you. I am Mafalda Hopkirk, Head of the Improper Use of Magic office. You do realize that it is illegal for you to use magic outside Hogwarts until you reach the age of seventeen, don't you? Good," she went on without waiting for an answer. "While your use of a Vanishing Charm may have been over-looked, I'm afraid a Diffindo on a ministry bird – or any living creature for that matter – is quite serious. What ever gives you the idea that you can ignore a ministry letter?" Her voice grew colder and colder as she realized the boy was ignoring her.  
  
"I don't really care," he muttered after a while in a hollow voice. "All I want is to be left alone from 'sympathisers'" the word was said bitterly, "and abusive uncles. Leave me alone." As he said alone, an apparently wandlessly cast banishing charm was used, and the Ministry official went flying out of the room.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" she said huffily, ignoring the pain in her back. "How dare you-"  
  
She was cut off as various objects in his room started smashing and flying around, causing the walls to obtain their present-day scratches and marks.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" With a sharp pop, Mafalda Hopkirk was gone, and quite luckily too, as a small book flew straight where she had been standing not a second ago. More footsteps were heard running up the stairs – the Dursley's, coming to see what the commotion was. After a few well aimed, flying ornaments and bellowed insults, they were gone again.  
  
The room returned to calm, and Harry Potter fell asleep.  
  
They had stopped talking to him altogether now. Their snide remarks and chores had vanished, and although this seemed good, all it did was give him more time to torture himself with his thoughts. He had taken to picking up shards of broken mess and scratching things on the wall. He briefly considered scratching a calendar to show when he would be going back to Hogwarts before he realised he probably wouldn't be going back – and he didn't know he what the date was.  
  
Authors notes:  
  
This will probably sound incredibly arrogant, but I love the way I write. Or, maybe, I like the way this is written. I wrote this some times ago [more than ten weeks] and didn't know what to do next, so I left it. Now I re-read it and felt as if someone else had written it. It's very pleasing. Of course, I don't mean someone else had written it and it sucked [here's the stuck up part], but someone else had written it... like a well known author. Very, very satisfactory. My one concern was the back and forth timing – does it make sense to you as the reader?  
  
Please give me your theories as to where you think this story will go! At the moment I have only a vague plot outline, details will be much accepted. Of course, there's not much basis for you to theorize on, but oh well. Maybe you have a plot-bunny you'd like me to write out? This work may or may not be slash, or romantic, so you see your options are well and truly open. Of course, I would also like my work to be refined, so don't hesitate to leave some critique if you like... which sounds silly, because if you want to you're not going to hesitate are you? Oh well.  
  
Snake 


	2. Chapter Two

Mafalda Hopkirk brushed herself off before knocking on the door to the Aurora Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic. She smoothed her hair down and smiled at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had opened the door.  
  
"Mafalda, how nice to see you," he murmured.  
  
"Yes, well, I wish this was only a social call. However, it seems we have a problem that may or may not be major." As she finished talking, Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. This was not a woman to get fussy over something little. It must be serious.  
  
"What seems to be the problem," he asked, listening intently.  
  
"It seems that young Harry Potter has gone slightly... rebellious, perhaps. He vanished his uncles belt, and then used a...a Diffindo on the Ministry owl that took him his warning letter." Shacklebolt winced. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be ripped in half.  
  
"I think this is a little more serious then we thought," Shacklebolt murmured thoughtfully. Potter was a special case, everyone knew that. Not just because he was famous, but because of his supposed power over Lord Voldemort. Most people put their faith back in Harry after the infamous articles by Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet had been claimed false. They couldn't jut rush in and knock the boy out, even if he had single-mindedly ripped a living creature in half. "The minister shouldn't be busy. Let's go see what he has to say."  
  
Together they walked down the corridors to the relatively empty elevator, earning a few odd stares at the grim looks on their faces. The both stepped into the elevator and watched the walls sliding past. When the cool female voice rang overhead announcing the appropriate level, they stepped off the lift and hurried down the next corridor. They drew a few more looks, but ignored them and made for a large set of double doors, inlaid with gold. Shacklebolt raised a hand and knocked sharply.  
  
The voices inside were cut off suddenly and there was the sound of footsteps. The door opened to reveal the portly Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, looking somewhat annoyed to have been interrupted.  
  
"Yes?" he said shortly, looking at the two people standing in front of him. What a curious pair, he thought.  
  
"We have something we think you should hear," Mafalda said. She looked directly into Fudge's eyes and he grunted his assent, motioning them in. They stopped halfway towards the table and chairs situated in the middle of the room, slightly surprised to see Albus Dumbledore sitting at the table, holding a cup of tea.  
  
"Good afternoon," he beamed at them. "Ah, perhaps I should step outside?" He made to rise, but Shacklebolt stopped him.  
  
"No, Albus, it might be better if you stayed."  
  
The Headmaster of Hogwarts, looking slightly bemused, sat down.  
  
"Its about Harry Potter...he's become very...destructive," Mafalda said hesitantly. Dumbledores eyes darkened and he pulled his chair in.  
  
"Details?"  
  
Harry picked up a piece of glass from his fetal position on the floor. He looked at it, holding it up to the thin light streaming through the window. The light glittered of its jagged edge. Harry thought momentarily that it might've come from the sneak-o-scope Ron had given him, but the thought slid easily from his mind. Holding the piece tight, he dragged it along the wall, leaving a hideous scratch. A strange half smile stretch its painful path along the wizards mouth.  
  
Almost absentmindedly, he imitated his previous movement.  
  
On his arm.  
  
A soft hiccup-y sigh escaped his mouth as he watched the thin trail of blood seep down his wrist. With curious eyes he watched it pool in the crook of his elbows. Frowning, he dragged the piece of glass through his arm again, harder this time, and the blood flow was much thicker and faster. A half-grin crossed his mouth, making him look painfully thin and unhealthy. He almost giggled at the sight of something so vibrant and alive on his pale, dead flesh.  
  
In an instant, his face changed. A snarl wrought his otherwise delicately- strong features into a mask of hatred. With no apparent reason, he hurled the glass shard at a wall and watched in agony as the many pieces fell to the ground, shining in the sunlight and making him feel impure, tainted. He cowered, shielding his eyes.  
  
Looking the other way, he stood up. A hollow roaring sound rushed through his ears as he fought off waves of nausea. He stumbled over to his now filthy bed, wondering if he needed new glasses – his vision was swimming. He clutched at the frame of the bed, guiding himself onto the mattress. He sat on it, gathering the sheets around him. He watched the red stain spread, then fell over, unconscious.  
  
Dumbledore knocked on the front door of the Dursley's house. He waited a moment before the door opened to reveal the astonishingly thin Petunia. She peered at him in fright.  
  
"Good day, or evening," he said politely, smiling at her. The quickly dying sunlight glinted of his silvery beard, almost giving the effect of flames.  
  
"What do you want?" she snapped uncertainly.  
  
"Why, to see Harry, of course."  
  
Petunia wanted nothing to do with the brat. She didn't know quite how to respond.  
  
"He's up in his room," Vernon's voice came from behind Petunia. "You may go and see him...if you can. He's gone insane." With that, Vernon grabbed Petunia's arm and yanked her into the kitchen. Dumbledore stepped into the over-clean house and shut the door behind himself. Walking up the stairs, he looked at the doors, immediately seeing Harry's. It had scratches all over it. He sighed and knocked on the door.  
  
No response.  
  
"Harry?" he called gently. "Harry, can you hear me?" Still nothing. Tensing himself, Dumbledore turned the doorknob. The sight that greeted him was appalling. Blood, broken glass and shattered wood lay all about the wastelands of Harry's room. The sheets, holding an obviously curled up Harry, were soaked in blood.  
  
"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore whispered. He whipped out his wand and rushed over to his young wards bed. Stripping the sheets off the bed, he threw them in a corner. He gently rolled Harry onto his back and straightened out his arms and legs, which were still curled tightly against his body.  
  
"You look like you've lost a lot of blood..." Dumbledore murmured. He looked down at the now faintly bleeding arm and sighed. Quickly, he murmured ?, and watched as Harry's arm was wrapped in bandages.  
  
"Mobilicorpus," he murmured, and as he held Harry in the air, he summoned new bed sheets and quickly settled them over the bed. "Much better," he murmured while setting the boy back down. He swallowed back a sob as he looked over the destruction in front of him and in his memories. And it's the poor boys birthday, too, he thought sadly. He stood up and stretched out his back muscles to relieve the cramp of kneeling. He looked around at the shards of destruction littering the floor.  
  
"Reparo Totalus," the old man whispered. He watched as the cupboards, glass, and parchment floated back together. He breathed deeply – that took a little more energy than a normal reparo. There wasn't much e could do about the walls – that required a more delicate touch. Instead he summoned a chair and sat down beside Harry's bed, waiting for him to awaken.  
  
Downstairs, Vernon and Petunia sat at the kitchen table with their Duddikens. Vernon had a baseball bat. Dudley held his Smelting stick. Petunia had her faithful frying pan. They were slightly perturbed by the various muffled thumps and vaguely heard spells. They huddled together, glaring at the ceiling, checking the staircase every now and then, as thought there was a murderer in their house, and not just a kindhearted wizard. To them, there wasn't a difference.  
  
Authors notes:  
  
Well, that was fun to write. Plot scenes keep coming from all over, so if you want an idea incorporated then you'd better hit the review button fast. The plot seems to be settling like a deck of cards. If that makes sense. If not, oh well. Be assured that I know what I'm doing now. Still room for more ideas though!  
  
Yes, I am also aware that the exact locale of the Ministers office was probably totally inaccurate, as well as the office itself. But as I had nothing to work with...that was the best I could come up with. You see, this story I'm trying to keep 'straight': that is, no making new spells, no new characters, no resurrection or the like. Just using what you know. The other story which I will be posting soon will have lots of new characters, spells, plot, new main character, even. That's right, I'm taking Harry out of the spotlight! ...until its sequel.  
  
Snake 


	3. Chapter Three

Harry Potter blinked and forced his eyes to stay open. His arm felt weirdly heavy, and his sheets smelt strangely clean. Sunlight was streaming in from his usually-blocked window, and...his floor seemed clear of mess. He sat up slowly and looked around at the repaired furniture and glassware. He blinked again, confused. Then he spotted Dumbledore.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter."

He scooted backwards, away from the old man, who was smiling at him benignly. Emerald eyes widened, and loose objects around the room started rattling, shaking. Dumbledore's smile dimmed as he held his hands out imploringly.

"Harry, calm down," Dumbledore murmured. It seemed to have the opposite of his intended effect. Objects began rising around the room as Harry's breath quickened. Dumbledore stood up, and the objects started flying.

"Harry!" he said sharply. Harry screamed. The objects started hurtling towards Dumbledore, who took an alarm clock to the head before he scampered rather ungracefully out of the room, slamming the door shut. He listened, gut clenching, as Harry's screams turned into mournful howls and wails, before being overtaken by sobs.

"Ah, Harry..." he sighed sadly. The poor boy had too much on his shoulders at this age. He faced the door and locked it from the outside with a powerful locking charm before walking downstairs. He wandered into the kitchen.

He looked at the small family huddled in the corner, holding various implements of self-defense. For a while, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the clock ticking. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in thought. Surely something had happened to cause Harry to become so frightened, so...insane...

"What did you do? I was under the impression that this was a nice caring family, but that," he said, pointing upstairs, "is not the result of a decent upbringing. What did you do?"

"We did nothing that the little fr...brat didn't deserve," Vernon said nastily, tripping over the word 'freak'. Even Vernon knew not to use that word in front of this man. Dumbledore absolutely radiated power.

"And what, exactly, did this 'brat' deserve?" asked Dumbledore coldly.

"A lot worse then we gave him!"

"_What did you do, Mr. Dursley?" _Dumbledore glared at the fat, trembling man in front of him. When there was no response, he let out an explosive sigh. "_Stupefy!" _he said sharply, his wand suddenly in his hand. Dudley and Petunia both screamed as Vernon fell over, stunned. Dumbledore pulled a vial of clear liquid out of one of his various robe pockets and crouched near the fallen man. He pried his mouth open and carefully tipped three drops into Vernon's mouth. Pressing his wand into Vernon's chest, he murmured '_Enervate', _and then stood up, stepping back slightly.

"What did you do?" Petunia cried, looking at her husband's placid face.

"Be silent," Dumbledore said sternly. "Mr. Dursley, I would like you to tell me how you have treated Harry since he has come back from school."

Vernon, still sitting on the floor, staring ahead, took a deep breath. "I made him do everything I told him to do, as is fitting of the little freak." Dumbledore's jaw tightened. "He was made to cook, clean and to go to his room when he wasn't needed. We also took it upon ourselves to remind him of his status as freak of the house – no, the world! – and to make sure he had no delusions of grandeur that his school and headmaster seemed to pile upon him."

"Anything else?" Dumbledore asked, voice calm, face anything but.

"He was beaten when he did something wrong - only way to discipline creatures like him anyway."

"So basically you made him feel like he was worthless?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. He didn't want to think about the possible consequences of putting physical and mental abuse on top of the emotional abuse of Sirius' death and the constant worry of Voldemort.

"You are a filthy excuse for a human, Mr. Dursley, you and your family." Dumbledore gave them all one final glare before heading back up to Harry's room.

He stood outside Harry's room, carefully listening inside. There seemed to be no sound, and Dumbledore wondered if that was good or bad. He opened the scratched door once more and stared around. It looked as if he had one back in time – everything was broken again. He sighed and looked at the bed. Harry was asleep once more, with faint tear tracks evident on his face. Dumbledore walked over to him and took out his wand. Beautiful emerald eyes flashed open and stared sadly up at the old headmaster. His heart broke as he saw the countless emotions roiling through those green orbs – fear and self-recrimination and self-hate and bitter, bitter depression. Sadly he whispered '_Stupefy_'.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Molly Weasley pottered around her house, skillfully avoiding her many children. All of them, it seemed, wanted to come home these holidays – Bill, Charlie, everyone...except Percy. The house was very full, and although she sighed continuously about the mess and fuss, Mrs. Weasley loved having her children all together again. She only regretted that they could not be a whole family again. She wondered when Percy would come to his senses.

Earlier that day, she had received a warning from Dumbledore that Harry might unexpectedly need to stay at the Burrow for an unknown period of time. She wondered if she would have enough room for him, even with Percy gone. Bill and Charlie were much bigger then she remembered – and remember she did. Fondly did she recall the days when her two eldest were little babes romping around and about the house. But now she had more important things to think about.

Dumbledore had sounded rather grave when he had departed his message to Mrs. Weasley through the fire. She wondered what the problem was – after all, Dumbledore rarely actually _asked_ Harry if he'd like to go to his best friend's house – he merely gave permission. She sighed thoughtfully and checked into Percy's old room. The two beds she had set up for Ron and Harry in the bigger room were still neatly made, the way she left them. She made her way quickly to the door as she heard a brisk knock.

"Albus!" she greeted the old man cheerily. "Where's --" her question was cut off.

"Quickly, Molly," he said. The kindly woman moved out of the way with a concerned expression on her face. She watched as Dumbledore manouevred a flying bed through the doorway.

"Surely that isn't..." she began, then gasped as she saw Harry's face, looking skeletal and unhealthy. "What on earth has happened to him?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily and directed the floating medical bed up the stairs to an empty room – Percy's old one. The door bumped open gently and Dumbledore lifted the young wizard's inert body off the floating bed and onto the soft, stable one. Molly silently walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She hesitantly walked up to the pale boy lying on her bed and look at him critically. His face was sunken, unhealthily white, and his chest was covered with a ripped shirt, a few bruises visible. The rest of his body followed this skeletal pattern. This horrible image brought the saying 'your only skin and bones' to life.

A tear trembled its way along Mrs. Weasley's cheek. It fell onto Harry's hand.

"What...what has happened to him?" she asked again.

"He was ...mistreated, shall we say, at the Dursley's house. They are no where near as sensible or rational as I had thought." He explained, privately wondering how much this mistake would cost him, and the wizarding world. "Where is Ronald?" he asked gently.

"He is out with his brothers and Ginny, playing Quidditch in the field," Molly replied distractedly. Dumbledore nodded and peered out the window absently.

"I assume that you are able to take care of Harry for the remainder of the school holidays?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, certainly!" the good woman replied, almost before Dumbledore had stopped speaking. "You know he is as important to me as Ron or any of my other children are!"

"You are a marvelous woman, Molly," Dumbledore said thankfully, "and I cannot thank you enough for this. I must warn you though, Harry is a little volatile at the moment." He relayed the incident with the Ministry owl, and the official. "When I found him, he had passed out from loss of blood. He had...cut open his own wrists." Molly gasped. "Nothing fatal," Dumbledore hastened to assure her, "but when he finally woke up, he did not appear to recognize me. He has an outburst of magic that usually only happens with young, uncontrolled children." Molly nodded attentively – she knew about children. "This magical outburst caused objects to fly around most harmfully. I am still uncertain of whether it is safe to leave him with anyone, but I am sure of your dedication and practicality." Molly beamed.

"You can leave it to me, Albus. I'm sure you have many other matters to deal with."

"Yes, yes. I must be off now. I will be coming to check up on Harry regularly. Don't hesitate to owl me if necessary," he warned.

"Of course," Molly said, walking the older wizard to the door.

"Goodbye, Albus."

"Goodbye, Molly," he smiled as she shut the door. He sighed and looked up to the window of Percy's room. "Good luck, Harry."

He dissapparated with a small _pop_.

Author notes:

Well, that certainly took its time. I have forgotten if anyone is even reading this! However, my excuse is...my computer tends to be possessed. I swear! Anyway, hoped you like this new chapter. I plan on making them loooooonger, as 1300 or so words is not really much of a chapter.

Snake


End file.
